


Dry Eyes

by thisplaceisunfamiliar



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Angst, Hospital, Original Story - Freeform, Other, Short Story, coldweather, trainride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 21:46:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14962775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisplaceisunfamiliar/pseuds/thisplaceisunfamiliar
Summary: Adam Caldwell suffers from a rare condition called 'Sans-Lacrimae' which means he cannot produce tears when he is sad or when he is in pain. He was born in the outskirts of the city where the government are still cleaning up the post-war fallout.  He frequently visits Sacred Heart Hospital, but he has no intention of being cured. Why? Read on to find out.





	Dry Eyes

Adam suffered from a rare condition called 'Sans Lacrimae.' It meant that he couldn't produce tears when he was in pain or when he was sad. He had been like this ever since he was born. According to the doctors, radiation had caused inflammation in his lacrimal glands; thus they were damaged. You see, his family lived on the outskirts of the city where the government were still cleaning up what remained of the chemical warfare that had happened nearly two decades ago.

His parents didn’t really care if he could cry or not. It just meant a less troublesome child to take care of. What they weren’t aware of was that their complacency ate away at the young Adam. He didn’t understand why he always felt the way he did. Stressed, unhappy, and unpleasant. Weddings, funerals, dogs dying in movies, he was immune to them all. As he grew older, the numbness grew with him. Adam couldn’t hold a single job for more than a week due to weak emotional responsiveness. Fortunately, he had managed to latch onto one last thread of hope.

He rested his head against the glass window; his earphones were planted snugly into his ears, feeding him an array of miscellaneous songs. With each passing song, he counted the instruments and sounds which overlapped each other. There was a bass guitar, a keyboard, a saxophone, maracas, drums, and crashing waves in this one. The next had a synthesiser, an acoustic guitar, and a piano. Gazing out at the dark scenery passing by, he felt himself melting, melding, merging with the dark glass. He wanted to let it consume him, leaving an empty seat for another person. He wanted to stay on this train forever. His fantasy was short-lived, however, as he had arrived at his station.

He instinctively shoved his hands in his coat pockets as the cold air greeted him. Adam retreated from the platform and descended the stairs towards the underpass where it was warmer. He walked among the fresh horde of people who had either exited trains or were in need of one. The obnoxious sound of a saxophone echoed through the tunnel. It was a street performer. His upturned hat was glittering with coins. He caught glimpses of beggars along the walls, eyes pleading and weary. Adam knew he and his family were close to living like them. He was the sole reason why they weren't.

The cold air bared its fangs and bit into his skin once he reached the end of the underpass. He had only himself to blame for not bringing a muffler. No matter, he was only a few streets from where he had to go.

After he turned the final corner, he was met with the familiar sight of the looming, white building known as ‘Sacred Heart Hospital’. As he approached the front entrance, he noticed several news vans lining the perimeter. Pushing the doors open, Adam approached the reception desk. He removed his earphones and tucked them into his pocket where his phone was.

"I'm here for the batch testing," he said, flatly.  
"You are Mr Caldwell, correct?" she said after glancing up for a mere second.  
"Yes,"  
"Your form, please," she said without looking up from her desk.  
  
_You still need my form even when you remember my name?_  
  
He begrudgingly pulled out a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and slapped it onto the desk. The receptionist simply picked it up, unfolded it and scribbled down his name on a separate clipboard.  
"Please wait in the usual waiting room, Mr. Caldwell,"  
Adam ignored her and turned away, bumping shoulders with a nurse. He mumbled a 'sorry' before he disappeared down the hallway. When he arrived in the waiting room, several eyes were drawn to him. He paid them no mind and sat down in a vacant chair on the far right. Adam only concentrated on looking at the empty space in front of him. He didn’t want to lock eyes with the others, much less hold a conversation with any of them. Adam knew exactly why they were all waiting in this room with him.

They were all guinea pigs.

The government had created a 'program' where people who suffered from rare diseases and conditions could sign themselves up as human test subjects for every new batch of 'cures' that were concocted by teams of pharmaceutical scientists. They paid the families of the willing participants compensation whenever the batch failed to cure their condition. This was the whole reason behind why Adam had agreed to give his body away for science – it was all to support his family. Time after time, he was given various cures; from pills to medicated eye drops, but each time, he didn't shed a tear. And he was glad that he didn’t.

The fallout affected a majority of the area where he lived. His condition was mild compared to what the other children were born with, which he was more or less grateful for. Adam wanted to live in a better place - somewhere far away from the radiation and the men in hazmat suits that came every Sunday. He had been saving up all the money he had received from the failed cures; just enough for a small apartment in the inner-west. It was only a matter of time.

"Adam Caldwell?" A nurse called from the doorway. He stood up from his seat and followed the nurse out into the hallway. They soon arrived at an ivory-white door, marked with black letters which read: 'Dr. James Harris'.  
  
 _Never seen that name before._  
  
The nurse opened the door and gave a nod towards the bearded man who sat inside the room. Adam entered and heard the door close behind him.  
"Dr. James Harris, a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Caldwell," The man cheerfully grinned, holding out his hand in greeting.  
"’Adam’ is fine, thanks," he said, shaking his hand in return.  
"Great! Let's get started. I'll ask you a few general questions, and then we'll move onto your physical examination, okay?" Dr. Harris swivelled around on his office chair to his desk to retrieve his clipboard, "Please, take a seat," he said. And he did.  
"Let's go with blue today to change things up, eh?" he said to himself as he picked up a blue pen. The doctor then turned back around to face Adam who was slightly bemused by his eccentric manner.  
"Now, may I ask how old you are?"  
"Twenty-one," he replied.  
Dr. Harris scribbled that down and moved on to reading about Adam's condition.  
"Sans-Lacrimae, huh. Haven't seen an actual case in person before," he commented.  
Adam felt like the doctor was staring at him even when his eyes were glued to the clipboard.  
"Must be hard not being able to cry,"

Adam was used to this mockery. This whole act of ‘I’m a doctor and I care about my patients blah blah blah’. He knew that the doctors, this whole hospital, hell, the government couldn’t care less if he was suffering or not. All they cared about was producing results and reaping the benefits. Adam knew how to play that game too.

And as if he had read his mind, Dr. Harris looked up from his clipboard and smiled empathetically, his eyes crinkling at the corners.  
“While it is true that I don't know the life you have lived, Adam, I will try my best to cure your condition. I swear upon my name as a doctor. I really mean it," he said with such a strong resolute that Adam was a bit taken aback. Something unfamiliar stirred around within him. Perhaps he was wrong about this man. No matter, he still had to keep his guard up.

“You see, crying is a way for our bodies to release endorphins and flush out stress toxins, which is why its healthy to cry once in awhile. Your condition, on the other hand, doesn’t allow your body to do this. Hence, it can take a toll on your mental heal-”  
“Are we going to start or what?” Adam cut in.  
Surprised by his blunt response, Dr. Harris cleared his throat and gave an apologetic smile.  
“We can discuss this later, then. Let’s begin, shall we?”

He then proceeded to ask Adam a few more questions about his general health, diet, sleeping patterns, and the number of years he had participated in the program. Adam's answers were short and to-the-point, he wasted no time and left no room for the doctor to pry into his affairs. Afterwards, Dr. Harris asked him to undress, leaving him topless. He was glad that the heater was on while the doctor performed his physical examination. Once Adam had retrieved his turtleneck and coat from the coat rack, it was finally the moment he anticipated the most – getting the cure.

The doctor turned around on his office chair to open a drawer from under his desk and fumbled around for something. Adam could hear glass clinking. Finally, he spun back around and proudly presented a glass vial in his hand. A pale liquid swished around the small bottle, peaking his curiosity.  
"This is a sample from the batch my team, and I made last week. Let's hope this works," he said as he pushed a needle into the vial and extracted the liquid. Adam was never good with needles, which was ironic coming from a man who visited hospitals more often than the average person. Dr. Harris noticed him staring intently at the needle in his hand.

"Not a big fan of needles, I assume?"  
Adam's eyes flicked up to meet the doctor's.  
"It's okay, Adam. It'll just be like a mosquito bite," Dr. Harris warmly smiled back, which filled him with a strange sense of reassurance. He draped his coat around the chair he was sitting on and pulled up his sleeve to reveal his pale arm, lying in wait for the needle. After glancing at his watch and scribbling down the time on his clipboard, Dr. Harris dipped a cotton ball into rubbing alcohol and wiped a spot on his bicep clean. Adam shut his eyes tight, not wanting to see the metal tip penetrate his skin. And just like that, the doctor injected the cure into his arm. He opened his eyes and untensed his shoulders.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Dr. Harris said. Adam chose not to say anything. After placing a band-aid on his arm, Adam rolled his sleeve back down and started to reach for his coat when a stinging pain erupted from his arm.  
"Come back to me after about a week and tell me if you feel any different and if- Adam?" Dr. Harris had noticed that his patient was wincing and clutching at his arm.

"Adam! Tell me what's wrong!" The doctor panicked, dropping his pen onto the floor.  
"I-I don't know! My arm! It fucking hurts!" Adam screamed back. He had never felt this much pain from a cure before. The worst he had felt were eye drops that burned like lemon juice. But this was worse. Much worse. The doctor scrambled to his side and tried to hold him up, but he couldn't stand. Adam sank to his knees; teeth gritted tight, beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. The stinging sensation travelled from his arm, up his shoulder, through his neck and up into his head. He felt as if the front of his brain was being stung by a horde of fire ants, the pain growing in intensity with each passing second. Adam clutched at his head, fingers entangled in strands of hair. He couldn’t make out what the doctor was saying anymore. There were only the sounds of his own screaming. He could feel a stinging sensation from behind his eyes. Something pushed its way past them as they were shut-tight. Unfamiliar wetness trickled down his cheeks. Then, the pain stopped altogether, and he slowly opened his eyes.

His vision was blurred by tears.

“Adam? Adam, are you alright?” The worried doctor asked, gripping him by the shoulders, several nurses by his side. Adam was speechless. He was crying. Crying for the first time in his entire life. A whole new string of emotions wrapped themselves around him. A giggle escaped his lips. Then, it erupted into a burst of teary laughter. Dr. Harris and the nurses all stared at him as if he were a madman. His laughter shortly died down, and he began to sob. His shoulders shook with each sob, his tears mixed in with his mucus. Concerned, the nurses took him to a separate ward where they could examine him when he calmed down.

Cameras were flashing from the hallways as Adam was escorted through, his eyes and nose were red and swollen from crying, his pale cheeks wet with tears.  
“God, didn’t anyone tell you to stay downstairs? We have a patient in dire need, here!” Adam heard Dr. Harris yell at the photographers. They must have sneaked up here. He felt mentally exhausted from the rush of emotions that came after he cried. The hallway turning sideways was the last things he saw before everything became black.

The next morning, Adam woke up in a hospital bed, hooked to an IV tube and a heart monitor. Dr. Harris was beside him.  
“How are you feeling, Adam?”  
“... Tired,” he replied as he sat up in the bed, “What happened?”  
“Well, aside from you collapsing, our examination revealed that the injection had over-stimulated your hypothalamus; amplifying your emotional responses to a peak before plummeting to normal levels,” he explained, “ And thanks to you, we have secured a tangible cure for others who also suffer from Sans-Lacrimae in the future,”.  
Adam pressed his palms into his face and sighed. He could still feel a gentle sting behind his eyes.  
“Your parents will visit you in the late afternoon. Get some rest now, okay?” he smiled before he left the room.

Adam retracted his hands from his face and looked out the window. The curtains were slightly drawn, a streak of sunlight had fallen onto his lap. He turned to face his bedside. His neatly-folded coat laid on top of the bedside table. Adam reached out and took it, fumbling through its pockets. When he felt the smooth surface of his phone screen, he pulled it out along with his earphones. He turned it on - 8:39 AM.  
  
 _What will I do to earn money now?_  
  
Adam noticed that the last song he had paused was still on the lock screen. He remembered that the song had up to five instruments and sounds and that it had a slow tempo. He could recall each rise and fall of emotion in that song; the way the sounds intertwined with each other; dancing hand-in-hand. It was one of his favourite songs.

That was the moment he realised; he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my short story! I wrote this for a major assignment for my Creative Writing course at uni. I know lots of people are waiting for me to update Sea Salt, so I hope you enjoyed this while I write the new chapter! Tell me your thoughts and feelings in the comments below~


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